When I look up at the stars, aligning to
devise magnificent patterns,
my mind rewinds to the way your
delicate fingers would trace your thoughts upon my back,
fabricating our love.
I reminisce how your fingers entwined
with mine,
and the way they wrapped around my neck;
I yearn for how
they would dig into my skin—harsh
but with loving intent—
and the way they would hold me when my body
trembled with despair. I miss
the way your fingers touched me. I miss it.
I miss it.
I miss it.
When we connected it was
beautiful—
just like the stars.
After all,
it only takes two to form a
constellation.